Dark days at Casa de Rental. We had to take Lani to the airport. Jenny’s stomach was a mess Sunday night (too much stress) and everyone just crashed early. So you might say we didn’t have our official Come to Goddess meeting. But you know, the entire time has been a Come to Goddess meeting.
And then we started talking all morning (we woke up early). Reminding each other of things we know but choose to ignore. That Lani doesn’t have to make everyone happy and cheer everyone up. Nor does she have to apologize all the time for being who she is. Jenny doesn’t have to take charge of everyone, pay for everything, make sure everyone is getting what they want. Jenny doesn’t have to listen to the voices of her childhood bouncing around in her head.
And Krissie doesn’t need to fix everything. She doesn’t need to support her children, rescue her husband, come up with a plan and the answers to everything. Sure, it worked for almost forty years. But it’s not working any more.
My friend Sally had a great story. Her children were about four and six, and she was miserable, being run ragged as she tried to be the perfect mother. She did everything for them, always made sure their clothes were good, that their homework was done, kept the house OCD-spotless (she had a worse childhood than mine). Her therapist said stop doing all that. Sally went back the next week and said her kids now seemed depressed. The therapist said “you’d be depressed too if you just lost your maid.”
Point being that people can have a hard time with you when you change. And not all changes are good. I snapped at Richie last night, when I never do, simply because he couldn’t find a file on the computer for me. Well, it was actually because he kept getting pissed off about it at the other end of the phone, but still … Anyway, I called to apologize.
So we dropped Lani off at Newark Airport and then proceeded to get lost, not trusting Agnes the GPS (and the car), and it became Lucy and Ethel get out of Newark. Unfortunately I think I’m Lucy. Anyway, we finally made it home, and Jenny and I both got a bit of work done last night. About 1200 words, which got me to the 60k mark. I’d love to get at least 3k done today — that used to be a piece of cake. But we’ll see. It’s dark and raining and we miss Lani. But I’m going to work, and I always feel better when I work.
I think I know why I haven’t been gaining weight. We only have one major meal a day (when we go out). F’rinstance, yesterday I had a couple of breakfast bars for lunch, some pretzel goldfish and a morning glory muffin for dinner. For lunch I had broiled chicken, a relatively small amount of mashed potatoes and gravy and a roll without butter. The chicken (the gravy particularly) was the heavy meal, but since I didn’t eat much else the weight doesn’t seem to be a problem. At least, my clothes are still loose, and I’ll have to go with that.
Jenny’s gonna have a Come to Jesus meeting with her contractor, who unfortunately is sick. He does, however, have a full crew that’s been working on other things and they can damned well work on Jenny’s house. She needs in there, and bad.
So we’ll get through this dark day. She’ll kick butt and not let her own be kicked by missing the dogs and hating this house (which actually isn’t a bad house). But she needs roots, she needs a home. She needs to reinvent her fabulousness, and she needs to put down roots to do it.

We’ve had trouble getting a plumber out here because everyone’s up North hunting. It’s a Michigan thing–apparently there’s something new in season to kill . . . Or maybe a different way to kill it? I don’t know. I don’t care, except that, really? I have to wait two weeks to get my pipes fixed? Really?

Oops. That rant was meant to have a point–is there a NJ equivalent to going up north to hunt? That may be why no one’s available to work on Jenny’s house.

Don’t know, but there’s certainly a VT equivalent. It’s called Deer Camp, and it’s usually the third and fourth weeks in November (I think) and the first two weeks are bow season. And after that comes muzzle loader. Or something like that.
Speaking of which, my darling grandson and his other grandfather came by to show us what was in the pickup. A huge black bear. Guess it’s bear season right now. At least Alex’s other family eats everything. I don’t particularly fancy bear meat, but hey, you never know …

I hear it’s game-y and fatty, but I wouldn’t know either. I once taught in a school district where they gave the kids the first two days of rifle deer hunting season off. Not so that the kids could go hunting, but because the buses kept getting hit with bullets.

I had a visceral “yeeuchh” reaction to this; for some reason the thought of eating a predator animal like a bear squicks me but the thought of eating an herbivore like Bambi doesn’t bother me at all. Also baby bears are cuddly-looking, but I think fawns are cute too and still eat venison when I can get it.

My own logic doesn’t even stand up – I enjoy bacon and pork, and yet pigs are omnivores. There was a story in the news recently about a farmer in Oregon who never came back from feeding his hogs. His dentures and unspecified “other parts” were later found in the hogs’s pen.

And that’s the reason I would never be interested in raising swine. I can’t even stand to go in the hog barn at the fair. But I will happily eat them and their delicious parts. It’s a quandry.
And as a anthro major, I have a horrific fascination for the term ‘long pig’, I won’t provide details here to spare the faint of heart.

Predators don’t make good eating – and even though a black bear is an omnivore and is more likely to eat his way through a berry patch than hunt something down they still aren’t good.

I really don’t get sport predator hunting, I was raised to believe that unless something is a (real and immediate) threat you only kill things you can eat. Having said that, there is moose and elk in my deep freeze.

There was a cougar running around near my parent’s place that was on the most wanted list. He wasn’t afraid of anything, would go into people’s yards, killed a couple dogs and a foal before someone shot him. I felt bad, he was just trying to survive but it’s a short leap for a cougar from a dog to a kid.

I live way up north in Mich. and there is no way to get anything done during deer hunting (rifle that is, there is also bow, etc.) which starts Nov. 15. Plus there is the ‘getting ready for deer camp’. I had to threaten the guys putting up my siding to get the major stuff done before hunting or I knew I would never see them again.
I always do a “hunters’ widows sale” in my business and now our downtown stores have a ‘ladies night’ of shopping. Women are ready to spend money because they are often angry about the time and expense their husbands are expending. I now find it kind of funny but not when my kids were little!
Some of our schools do give the first 2 days off for hunting. When my daughters were in high school, I told our principal I was taking my girls out shopping instead – since it made about as much sense.

Oh, good for you for tapping into that! My husband isn’t a hunter, but I can remember him being very stingy about buying me a stupid laundry pole (I needed his car to transport it in), but then he’d go and buy a guitar. I bought books in retaliation. (Probably could have afforded the laundry pole if I’d bought fewer books, but it was the PRINCIPLE, not the LOGIC.)

If women would buy smart (valuable trinkets that appreciate — I’m thinking diamonds and gold), then they’d have the satisfaction, and a little nest egg.

Ah, you’ve got “deer camp” in Michigan too. We’ve lots of hunter”s breakfasts at local churches and stuff for fundraisers. Plus beer sales go through the roof.
Tracy said he’d never tree a bear. Some hunters go out with dogs and have them trap the bear in a tree and shoot them that way. I’m guessing Tracy wouldn’t do a deer drive either. Funny thing, Tracy, Erin’s father (and my son’s probable eventual father-in-law) went to school with Mini-me).

I can sympathise on the rental – we had to move into a teeny tiny house for 3 months between houses 2 years ago. We still have nightmares! The hardest part was that it wasn’t our stuff! (and making sure our 3 year old didn’t break anything!)

Oh Kate, I’m sorry. As usual, I have no words of wisdom. I don’t know what I’d do in your shoes… I just know I don’t do well when I have no control in a situation. And I don’t do well with change. I hope things go well. And hugs and tons of positive thoughts going your way.

Sorry for the rough patches. I’m sure not being in the same house is going to be a big adjustment for Lani and Jenny. Good thing email is free!

Good luck on the words and the contractor negotiations. The dude who was supposed to install my floor disappeared so looks like I’ll be laying my own tile in the spring. Until then I have a new pretty area rug in my kitchen. My downstairs has become the floor of many colors.

I think you guys need soup. Go to tastykitchen.com and find a good, hearty, easy recipe, and let it simmer while you work. I know this means making it, but it’s worth it. Then you have a cutoff point where you stop work for the day, have soup, and relax. Worrying will only do so much for you. let yourself veg in the evening. You don’t have to carry your burdens 24/7.

As much as I prefer refined carbs, I’ve been trying to incorporate tiny bits of chopped veggies into anything I can. Like pizza – chopped fresh tomatoes, fresh mushrooms, orange bell peppers… All in tiny little pieces. Like confetti.

What is it with contractors, anyway? So many of us have horrible contractor stories. It’s like the whole industry has some sort of major virus.

What if grocery stores worked the same way? ‘No, we don’t have any fruit today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Soon, I promise. And bread? Yeah, the bread guy was supposed to come two days ago but he didn’t. I called him, but he never answered.”

Change is hard, especially when you have to hang out in moving purgatory, then move again when your cottage is all pretty and livable. At least you’re closer to it so you can crack the contractor whip in person. I agree about Mona – it’s hard enough to change long-term digs without any dogs to snuggle with. I want to come fix everything too. Darnit.